


In your bed, as you slept (and I held my breath)

by queermccoy



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Come Eating, Enthusiastic Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, Shame, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy
Summary: Back in the bedroom, through their windows, the sun is just starting to peak out over the horizon. Richie glances down at the clock on Eddie’s side table. The red numbers blink 5:39 AM at him in a steady and predictable rhythm. He looks at the sky and back at the clock, then down at Eddie, who’s spread into Richie’s space while he’s been away. He thinks about what Eddie said, about what he wants. He thinks and his fingers curl into his palms.or, Richie and Eddie engage in consensual somnophilia
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 212
Collections: Quarantine It Fic Fest





	In your bed, as you slept (and I held my breath)

**Author's Note:**

> Fest Prompt: Reddie consensual somnophilia
> 
> Title from Square by Mitski

Richie wakes up abruptly, his bladder screaming. He blinks, clearing the sleep out of his eyes, and rolls over in bed. He looks over at Eddie, fast asleep, breath whistling out of his nose with every exhale. It’s still dark outside, probably the early, early morning. Eddie’s sharper edges are blurred by the shadows in their bedroom. He looks cute in this light, eyelashes on his cheeks, skin radiating warmth, and Richie knows if he touched it, he would be soft. 

He thinks about touching the fine hairs on Eddie’s exposed shoulder and climbs out of bed instead. 

He stumbles into the bathroom on unsteady, sleep-heavy legs. He closes the door behind him so he can flick on the overhead light, hand slapping at the wall blindly in the dark. It is blindingly bright, when he turns it on, and Richie groans. He shields himself against the light with one of his hands, cupping it over his eyes. He squints until his eyes adjust. When they do, he glances at himself in the long mirror over his and Eddie’s double sinks and grimaces at his bed head but doesn’t fix it.

Richie pulls up the toilet lid and the rim at the same time and then pisses, alleviating the pressure in his bladder but not the tension building in his groin. Richie thinks back to Eddie’s eyelashes on his freckled cheek, the hair on his shoulders. The sweet sound of his breathing through his nose. He shifts, squirming while standing upright. He misses the bowl and splashes on the seat. He swears, shakes, and tucks his dick back into his boxers. 

Richie wipes the plastic seat with a scrap of toilet paper he rips off the roll attached to the holder on the wall, then uses the Clorox wipes Eddie leaves in the bathroom to spot clean. Satisfied that it’s sparkling again, he flushes and tosses the wipe in the trash. He washes his hands, twice, to get the chemical smell off his skin using Eddie’s lemon scented, hypoallergenic moisturizing hand soap. 

Finished, he looks at himself in the mirror again and checks his stubble, rubbing his hands against it, judging his need for a shave this morning. He makes no decisions either way and shuts off the light on his way out the door, back into their bedroom. Imprints of the light flash behind his eyelids when he blinks in the dark.

Back in the bedroom, through their windows, the sun is just starting to peak out over the horizon. Richie glances down at the clock on Eddie’s side table. The red numbers blink 5:39 AM at him in a steady and predictable rhythm. He looks at the sky and back at the clock, then down at Eddie, who’s spread into Richie’s space while he’s been away. He thinks about what Eddie said, about what he wants. He thinks and his fingers curl into his palms. 

The thing is, they’ve talked about it. They’ve talked about it a few times over the course of the last two months. Eddie has told him again and again that it’s okay, that he wants it. 

“I trust you,” Eddie told him, touching him in the gentle way he knows Richie needs, cupping his face in his broad, masculine palms. “I really fucking want you to.” 

He also said, “It’s okay that you want it too,” which was harder for Richie to hear.

When Eddie is awake and they have their hands on each other, Richie is self conscious about the things that he wants, the way he wants to touch. Eddie wants this though, wants it so bad that he shifts in his seat when they talk about it. He wriggles and clenches his thighs together. He wants to be touched and caressed and wake up hard, wanting, and gasping. He wants that and Richie, well. He wants the things that Eddie wants, as a general rule, but he wants this more than usual. Richie wants to be able to give this to him. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, close to Eddie’s feet under their blankets. Eddie isn’t wearing a shirt. He hasn’t worn one to bed since the first time they talked about this. He’s made as many moves to telegraph his continued comfort as he can, and Richie appreciates his commitment. He’s steady, sure of himself. Richie knows he’s not, really, under the hard lines of him, a confident person, but the mask he wears sometimes definitely is. It feels real enough that he sucks in a deep breath and carefully peels back the blanket over Eddie’s body and bunches it up down at the foot of the bed. Eddie huddles into himself for warmth, arms pulled tighter to his chest. 

Richie knows what Eddie wants. He knows what he wants.

He touches his own stomach, rubbing the skin over his waistband. He looks down at Eddie, body a half circle in the middle of their bed. He looks so relaxed like this, mouth slack and pink with his fingers curled into his chest. 

He’s cute cute cute, and Richie takes a deep breath and holds it in his lungs. He brings a hand to Eddie’s bare shoulder, touching his fingertips to the skin there. It’s as warm as he thought it would be. He exhales heavily into the space between their bodies. 

There’s faint light coming in through the windows, blue skies casting light on Eddie, fast asleep. Richie traces the freckles on Eddie’s shoulder cap, touch featherlight. Richie loves him so much, loves him more than there are freckles on his body. He has tried to count them, the freckles on Eddie’s shoulders, down his back and across his nose. He’s only ever still when he’s sleeping, so that’s when he does. Looking at Eddie while he’s sleeping is something Richie does for free, but he does it like it’s his job. 

Emboldened by Eddie’s continued slumber, Richie drags his fingers down Eddie’s arm. He rubs the sleep warm skin and it sends a tingle down his spine. 

He shifts his hips, thrusting into nothing, his boxers dragging against his budding erection. There’s no real friction, but the tease is enough to make his fingers curl up into fists against Eddie’s soft skin. Richie exhales, nostrils flaring, and carefully uncurls his fingers. He pets Eddie’s arm, silently apologizing. He pauses on Eddie’s bicep, taking the time to slip his other hand under the elastic of his boxers. He doesn’t touch his cock yet, just rests his hand on the skin above it, pressing firmly. 

Eddie groans in his sleep, shifting and settling flat on his back instead of curled on his side. He shivers a little in the chilly morning air, but Richie doesn’t pull up the blanket. Instead, he watches with rapt attention as Eddie’s nipples harden with the chill. 

Richie positions himself above Eddie, his free hand holding him up and allowing him to hover over his chest. He leans down, licks his lips, then blows slowly on Eddie’s right nipple. He does it again before sticking out his tongue and carefully touching the tip to the hard skin there. Richie leans into Eddie’s bare chest, flattening his tongue and lapping at his nipple, scraping over it so he feels it’s hardness pressed into his pliant muscle. He falls down to his elbow and uses that hand to clumsily pinch at Eddie’s left nipple. He slides his hand down his cock, to the head and back to the base. He shudders, the nipple still in his gasping mouth grazed by his teeth.

He startles to a stop when Eddie makes a keening sound high in his throat. Richie follows it up up up to Eddie’s face, where it slips out past his dry lips. Richie blinks, watching Eddie’s eyelids. They flutter but ultimately remain closed. He waits thirty seconds, until Eddie stops squirming in his sleep, and then sits up, taking his hand out of his boxers. 

Richie moves between Eddie’s legs, gently spreading them so he can lay between them. His own cock is pressed against the mattress. He flexes his hips, digging into their bed, testing how much friction he’ll have. It’s enough. 

He’s so turned on right now, his cock hard and leaking. He feels brittle with how hard he is, shaky and breakable under pressure. He’s sick about it, skin too tight and too loose all at once. He flexes his hips again and bites back a groan growing in his chest. Their bodies are still close, even if Richie isn’t laying on top of Eddie anymore. 

Softly, Richie places a hand on Eddie’s knee and relishes in the feeling of his fine blond leg hairs under his fingers. He slides his hand up Eddie’s shapely thighs, playing with those hairs. He pauses at the edge of his briefs, tight and black and hiding something precious to Richie. He skims the edge, letting his index finger skate under the fabric for a moment, before drawing back. With a fervent glance up at Eddie’s face, to make sure he’s still sleeping, Richie brings his shaking hand up to the bulge in those black briefs. 

He touches Eddie’s cock through his underwear, and it’s harder than he’d thought it would be with only a little nipple action. Richie bites back a groan, clapping a hand over his own mouth to help muffle the sound. He traces the outline of Eddie’s cock reverently, breathing wetly into his own palm. 

Under his fingers, Eddie continues to fill out his y-fronts, his cock straining to attention. He draws the hand over his mouth away from his face and uses it to grip at Eddie’s hip, turning him just enough to grasp at his dick easier. 

Richie watches a wet patch grow where the head of Eddie’s cock rests in his underwear. He licks his lips and then leans forward and laps at it with his tongue pressed flat over the cotton. Eddie whimpers in his sleep, jerking his hips. Richie flicks his eyes up at Eddie’s face, but his eyes are still closed. He has a hand on his belly and Richie wants to suck on his fingers, but his mouth is busy on his cock so he thinks, _later._

Fairly confident that Eddie is still asleep, Richie licks at the damp patch again. The hand on Eddie’s thigh tightens when Richie draws in a lung full of him. He smells so good, like salt and sweat, musky in a way that should, but all rights, be disgusting but because it’s _Eddie_ he wants to drown himself in it. He takes another deep breath and holds it, nuzzling his face into Eddie’s groin. He exhales when his lungs feel fit to burst. He sucks on Eddie’s cock through the fabric of his underwear. 

Richie moves his mouth up and down the side of his cock and does and doesn’t want to push his underwear down to put his lips on Eddie’s bare skin. He chooses to keep Eddie’s briefs on, but moves his hand from his leg to his balls, rubbing them in time with his mouth through the sopping cotton. He’s so wet, they both are. He grinds his hips into the bed. 

Eddie’s stomach muscles jump and his legs twitch. He’s somehow still sleeping. Richie has no idea how, but decides to test how far he can go but taking his free hand and sliding it up Eddie’s twitching belly and using his fingers to rub circles into the closest nipple. 

Still, Eddie sleeps. It’s fitful now, his eyes screwed up like he’s having a nightmare. 

Richie thrusts his own hips into their mattress, sloppy and uncoordinated. He’s using all of his focus to keep his hand and his mouth working in time on Eddie, his own thrusts an afterthought. They are frantic though, shaking the whole bed with every sharp slap of his hips. He feels the harsh drag of his boxers against his cock, the firm mattress pinning him in place.

Eddie trusts him so much, he thinks while slapping his hips against the mattress topper. He trusts him to do this to him, to let him have his body when he can’t say anything. He wanted him to! He doesn’t care that Richie’s desires make him… he doesn’t want to think about that right now, with Eddie hard against his lips and his cock leaking into their sheets. 

Eddie trusts him, and that’s what matters. Eddie trusts him and loves him and Richie shakes the bed with his frantic rutting, pathetic and messy. 

“Baby,” he hears Eddie say, his hand sliding into Richie’s hair. He’s awake now, either from Richie’s mouth or his hips. He’s awake now, and his eyes are half lidded, sleep heavy and watery around the edges. Richie moans, deep in his chest, almost painful as it claws its way out of his throat, landing on Eddie’s cock. 

“Baby,” he keens again and comes in his briefs, cock twitching under Richie’s tongue. He soothes Eddie through it, mouthing along his cock, his hands gripping Eddie’s body tight and Eddie’s fingers digging into his scalp so hard it brings tears to his eyes. 

Richie pulls down Eddie’s underwear and runs his fingers through the mess, through Eddie’s come. He brings his head down, opens his mouth, and slurps it up. He’s sucking up Eddie’s come like a Hoover, licking at it like a popsicle. His fingers go lax in Richie’s hair. When he cleans all of the come off Eddie’s skin, he flips out the drenched fabric of Eddie’s briefs and sucks on that too.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie breathes. He slides his hand down from Richie’s scalp and touches his cheek, tender and sweet. When Richie looks up, come and spit soaked underwear in his mouth, Eddie still looks half asleep, like he’s about to pass out. He humps the mattress, feet tangled in their comforter. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, moving his hands from Richie’s cheeks and gripping his shoulders instead. When Eddie pulls on them, Richie moves up his body, stopping at Eddie’s chin, and follows his lead when Eddie tucks his face against his neck. 

One of Eddie’s hands is back in his hair, petting and soft this time, and the other shoves its way into his boxers, pulling them down so they both have their dicks out. He has his fingers wrapped around Richie’s cock, slick from his precome and gliding up and down like a dream, feeling feather-light after being trapped between his body and the bed. 

“Eddie,” he moans, biting at Eddie’s neck, at the throbbing artery beating in time with his strong heart. Eddie is so brave, so good, and he trusts _Richie_ so much, this much. 

“Yeah, you did so good,” Eddie tells him, turning his head to give Richie more room to work with, his own breath coming in huge gulps even though he’s already come, already been panting and aching. Richie loves that, loves that Richie is making him feel on the edge even after he’s already pushed him off it. He kisses the skin of his throat in thanks. 

Eddie’s pace is brutal and unrelenting, and Richie tries to keep his hips in check, not slam them into Eddie’s body, but Eddie is thrusting back, giving as good as he’s getting, their bodies in a frantic rhythm that makes Richie feel like his brain is leaking out of his ears. 

“Fuck,” he says, holding onto Eddie’s body like a life line, like it’s the only solid thing in the world. He might be. 

“Come on,” Eddie says, encouraging, egging him on. He slips his fingers into Richie’s mouth and drags them down his tongue and back up, index and pinky fingers hitting Richie’s back molars. He’s gagging and groaning around them, spit spilling out past his lips and pooling in the hinges of his aching jaw. 

With a hard thrust into Richie’s open mouth and a firm grip on Richie’s erection, Eddie says, “You can come, come on.” 

Richie chokes, pulling his head back so Eddie’s saliva soaked fingers fall from his lips and land on his neck. He laughs, thrusting up wildly at the feeling of Eddie’s spit slick fingers on his throat. “I know I can come, but _may_ I?” He asks, absolutely being a shit. There’s more light coming in through the window, and Richie can see Eddie’s hand on his cock, see each of his fingers work. 

He gasps, on the verge of tears, when Eddie stops moving his hand, eyes screwed shut to keep the tears at bay. 

“Richie,” Eddie says, suddenly serious and sounding completely and totally awake. He tilts Richie’s head up, fingers from his mouth having found their way back into his hair, and waits until Richie cracks open his eyes. He smiles, deviously, and says, “You may come now,” with a firm jack of Richie’s cock. 

He doesn’t come, immediately, but it is a close call. They maintain eye contact while Eddie jerks him off, fast and wet and unrelenting. He’s present, he’s there, and Richie liked when he was asleep, because he could do what he wanted even though it made him feel slimy, like he was covered in swamp water. He likes this too though, because he isn’t responsible for what’s happening. Eddie told him to come and now he is, spilling over Eddie’s fingers, on his stomach and on his soiled briefs. 

“There he goes,” Eddie whispers, almost reverently. He works Richie, twitching and jerking, through his orgasm. Sighing soft words and sounds into Richie’s hair, tucking his face back into his space between his shoulder and his throat. 

Richie kisses the skin there, when he’s done, and sags bonelessly against Eddie’s smaller frame. 

“How was that?” He asks, when his wits return and he feels more like a man than molded jello, wiggling for someone else’s entertainment. “Was it everything you dreamt of?” he continues, donning the breathy, high pitched Mid-Atlantic accent of an Old Hollywood starlet. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, and Richie can feel him bring and arm up to cover his face. “That was insane! It was the hottest, weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you.” 

He tugs a little on Richie’s hair, just to grab his attention, and continues, “How was that for you?”

“Weird,” Richie answers honestly. He doesn’t know how to describe the sick slip and slide of his guts, the way it made him feel settled and insane at the same time. So powerful and so pathetic all at once. He does his best, because Eddie asked, but he says it into the hollow of Eddie’s throat so he doesn’t have to look at him. Eddie rubs circles on his back. 

“Was it okay though?” He asks, cutting into a long and erratic comparison between the way Richie feels right now and the cinematic classic _Flubber_

“Oh, um,” Richie blinks and lifts his head so he can see Eddie through the lenses of his glasses, smudged with tears and spit, come, and his own face grease. He thinks for a minute before settling on, “Yes.” 

“You were really good for me,” Eddie says, petting his hair and wiping come and spit off his chin. “Really.” 

Richie doesn’t say anything, but his chest feels golden, like the light coming through the open curtains in their bedroom windows. He burrows further into Eddie’s arms and sags, fully relaxed, into his embrace. 

“I love you,” Eddie continues, hooking their legs together and sliding his foot up Richie’s calf. 

“I know,” Richie mumbles into Eddie’s chest. He reaches up to playfully flick his nipple and smiles when Eddie yelps. 

They fall into a comfortable silence, punctuated by sweet, soft breathing and chaste kisses to Eddie’s chest and the top of Richie’s head. Richie watches the sun crawl up in the sky and bleed light into their space, all of them on display to anyone who can see into their windows, obviously and thoroughly fucked and fucked up over each other. There’s come drying in his leg hair. 

“We have to take showers,” Eddie tells him after a while. 

“Yeah,” Richie agrees, but doesn’t move. 

“Five more minutes,” Eddie suggests, and Richie nods into his sparse chest hair. Eddie tightens his hold around Richie’s larger body and they sit together, resting, for seven more minutes before Eddie gets them up for showers, for breakfast, to get started with their days. 

Richie preens all morning, wandering around their bathroom, and then their kitchen in the glow of a job well done. He sits at their kitchen table with his laptop open, blank word document open and waiting for work, and wishes he hadn’t been so scared for so long. 

“See you tonight,” Eddie says, pausing on his way out the door. He’s mostly out of the house, one hand, strong and white knuckled, gripping the door frame. He’s heading into the office, suit jacket on and tie secured around his neck, but his eyes glancing back at Richie burn hot like they do when he isn’t wearing anything at all. Richie shivers. 

“Seeya, Eds!” He says with a cheeky wave. He can still smell Eddie in the back of his throat, even after their shower, even after he brushed his teeth. He licks his lips, fingers drumming on the hard wood of the kitchen table. 

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. He taps the door frame with his index finger, lingering. “We’ll talk some more tonight?”

Richie swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll talk some more tonight.” 

With a dirty grin, dimples making a sinful appearance, Eddie vanishes out the door. Richie shifts in his seat, knees pressed together under the table. Good things happen after they talk, when they communicate. Great things. Richie blinks and gets to work.


End file.
